


Promise Me

by Lostinfantasies38



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Childhood Friends, F/M, First Kiss, First Love, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Innocence, Mental Anguish, Mild Language, One Shot, So much angst, Suicidal Tendencies, Tragic Romance, Unrequited Love, so many tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 22:50:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21216353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostinfantasies38/pseuds/Lostinfantasies38
Summary: Lira Mahariel lost Tamlen and was recruited into the Grey Wardens to save her life.  This is the story of how she handles life's curve balls - which is to say, not well.This is a re-write of one of my older stories that was posted under a different name.  If you read it before and it seems familiar, that is likely why.





	Promise Me

**Author's Note:**

> IMPLIED SUICIDAL TENDENCIES. NO ACTUAL SUICIDE ATTEMPTS.  
Disclaimer: Not for profit, all for fun. Property of Bioware and EA - I have borrowed some dialogue, but tried to keep it to a minimum.

Creators, her entire body hurt. It was worse than the pain that caused her to black out when she’d been Blighted by the damn mirror. Duncan and Alistair were both hovering over her prone form on the stone and she idly wondered how long she’d been out. It was hard for her to look at the grizzled older Warden – it brought back too many painful memories. She was grateful that Alistair was the one who helped her stand.

Duncan asked how she was feeling and then informed her that her presence was requested at a meeting with the King. Alistair gave her a shy smile and a pendant of blood on a leather cord to remember her Joining. The sentiment was sweet and honorable, but right now as every fiber of her body, down to her teeth, pulsated with residual pain she just couldn’t find it in herself to care much about memorializing this experience. 

Dragging her lead feet to the King’s council, Lira took her place as Duncan’s apprentice, graciously thanking King Cailan as he praised her joining the Grey Warden’s ranks. She inclined her head when the King demanded that she and Alistair be the ones to light the beacon to signal for Loghain to flank the enemy on the field. He may have been a shem, but he was the literally the King of the Shems and she was not stupid enough to argue and risk losing her head when she’d already survived so much to get here.

Of course, nothing went as planned during the battle in the ruins. It seemed that nothing could go right, if she was involved. The tower they were supposed to climb was overrun with darkspawn that had clawed their way in from underground. Lira shivered – it was too similar to the circumstances that brought her to the Wardens, so she distanced herself from it and fought the darkspawn like a woman possessed.

_“It…it saw me! Help! I can’t look away!”_

Lira screamed with equal parts anguish and rage as she sliced the hurlock’s head from his neck and then ducking into stealth she ran up behind a spellcaster and slammed both of her daggers through his lungs. She used her foot to kick his body off her wicked Dalish daggers, not even sparing a look at her fellow Warden and the Circle mage, who stared at her in wide-eyed horror. Twirling her daggers, Lira led the way up the tower and massacred everything that stood in her way. By the time they reached the ogre, she was pissed and ready to dance.

Dropping into stealth, she let Alistair tackle it head on and she prayed that she would be able to take the beast down. She remembered all the lessons he taught her – step lightly, strike and then roll, attack the next weak spot before they even know you have changed positions, don’t get bogged down with a frontal assault, stealth, stealth, stealth. 

Lira sliced its ankles and watched with satisfaction as the blood poured and the massive creature slipped; it seemed that one of her cuts severed a tendon. She darted around the ogre on the ground, digging her blades into all the weak points – kidneys, lungs, abdomen. It roared angrily and struggled to stand, but the right ankle was useless, preventing it from standing to fight. Alistair dodged the arms that it flung wildly for protection while the mage hit it with fire and lightening. Finding an opening, her fellow Warden charged in between the giant swinging arms and took a running leap to bury his longsword into the ogre’s neck with a snarl. The darkspawn fell backwards and tried to rip the man off him, but Alistair twisted the blade in the neck and severed the artery. When he yanked his sword from the ogre’s throat, arterial spray bathed a swath of the stone floor with black blood. The ogre’s arms fell to the floor and it never moved again.

Alistair jumped off the darkspawn and turned to Lira. “Maker’s breath, woman! No wonder Duncan recruited you.”

She twirled her daggers dangerously and shrugged, “You watched me fight earlier in the Wilds.”

He laughed a little nervously, eyeing the way she handled her blades. “Uh, yeah, but you didn’t fight like a cornered wyvern. That…was a surprise,” he jerked his head down the stairs to indicate her rampage through the tower, while he wiped the brackish blood off his sword before sheathing it. “Come on, we should light the beacon. I’m sure we missed the signal.”

Wiping her own blades of the gore that covered them, Lira watched the mage light the tower beacon and decided to see if the ogre had anything worthwhile on him. She was bent over with her back to the stairs and she didn’t hear the sound of the darkspawn in her head until it was too late. Arrows rained around them and she saw the mage fall with the fletching of an arrow where an eye used to be. She felt one strike her in the chest and another lodge in her shoulder. The force of the arrows threw her against the blood drenched floor and she heard Alistair fall with a cry beside her before everything went dark.

Things seemed to happen very quickly after that fateful day. Ostagar was an unmitigated disaster thanks to Loghain’s betrayal. The King was dead, the Wardens were painted as traitors, which at times made the task of gathering allies daunting. Alistair, thankfully, had been given possession of the treaties by Duncan, so after the Witch of the Wilds saved them and foisted Morrigan upon them, they set about traveling the country using the documents and collecting other companions along the way. Alistair had been decidedly unhappy about Zevran’s presence and the two of them tried to outdo each other in an attempt to woo her. Leliana only shook her head sadly at both men’s feeble attempts to catch her eye. Neither of them seemed to have realized that her heart was already someone else’s.

They saved Redcliffe at Bann Teagan’s request and then rushed to the Circle to bring back aid for the Arl’s son, only to discover that the tower was on the verge of being annulled. So, Lira twirled her daggers and fought through a second horror filled tower in order to recruit the mages for the Blight and to save Connor. Once back in Redcliffe, the boy was saved by Morrigan in the Fade and then it was off to Haven in the Frostback Mountains to search for a fable. The elf rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of human religion, but they desperately needed Arl Eamon’s support, so it was worth investigating. She almost wished they hadn’t. 

Two words: The Gauntlet.

“Tamlen? Is it really you, lethallin?” Tears filled her large eyes and Tamlen smiled in the tender way he reserved for her when they were alone, as her hand reached out and cupped his cheek. He was warm and Lira could almost believe that he still lived as she touched him.

“I am Tamlen and yet, I am not. I am part of the Gauntlet – part of you.”

Lira choked back a sob, now both her hands were somehow holding his face, anchoring herself to him. “You will always be part of me,” she whispered. She wasn’t even aware of her companions as they watched their usually suicidal leader cradle a dead man’s face.

Tamlen stared at her with a crestfallen expression. “Lethallan, I am so sorry. I should have listened to you and gone back to camp. You were always smarter than me.” Lira gave a weak chuckle, startling her companions who never heard her laugh.

“You were always so mischievous. I had to keep an eye on you.” The elven man brushed a stray hair from her ponytail and tucked it tenderly behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the nape of her neck and the tears she had held in check, poured down her face. 

“If I had listened to you, we would be bonded by now.” Zevran hissed quietly in the background while Alistair expelled all the air in his lungs, as though someone punched him. Leliana gazed at both men with pity.

Lira was sobbing openly now, her hands slipping from his face and clutching his leather cuirass. “Lethallin, lethallin, I’m sorry I couldn’t find you. I searched for you! The whole clan searched for you. Forgive me, vhenan.”

“I must go and you cannot follow. The living can’t mourn the dead forever, lethallan.” He tilted her head up and kissed her sweetly through her tears. “Goodbye, Lira,” he whispered before his form dematerialized. Her legs gave out underneath her and she collapsed onto the cold stone floor with a gut-wrenching cry.

Leliana fell beside the distraught elven woman and pulled her into a fierce embrace as she sobbed for the man she could never have. The only one she’d ever wanted. The one she grew up believing she would share her life with. 

Once she cried all her tears, their crazed leader returned, her daggers twirling viciously and now Alistair understood what drove her suicidal tendencies on the field. Her heart was shattered – she didn’t care if she fell.

Lira was surprised to discover that the Urn of Sacred Ashes actually existed and after they pocketed the small pinch they needed to heal the arl, she prayed that if something as unlikely as a prophetess’s ashes were real that Tamlen might still be alive. It was the only thing that kept her going.

After curing the arl, they next traveled to Orzammar and gained the aid of King Bhelen, after numerous favors and destroying the Anvil of the Void. She neglected to tell the Assembly that she was responsible for killing two of their Paragons in one day. Oghren joined the team and even Lira questioned the sensibility of allowing his recruitment, but he was a Beserker and they could use that against the darkspawn. 

The time finally came when she was forced to face her demons and locate a Dalish clan for aid. Walking into the camp, even though it was not her clan, brought a rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Her eyes darted continuously around the camp and the forest because she could see his impish face out of the corner of her eyes everywhere she looked. Her hands shook madly as they fought sylvans, darkspawn, corpses, and werewolves. 

By the time they ended the curse that freed the forest spirit and the werewolves and gained the promise of the Dalish that they would join the fight against the darkspawn, Lira was an emotional wreck. She just wanted to return to camp and drop into Uthenara. Maybe when she woke up a thousand years later, Tamlen would be there waiting with a smirk, asking her what took her so long to realize he was only sleeping. 

They met up with their other companions at the camp outside the Brecilian Forest – the place that until recently she had called her home. Leliana regaled them with a lovely rendition of a lullaby about the dreamless sleep of the elves before they all retired for the night.

As Lira was about to clamber into her tent, she heard the _scritch, scritch _of the darkspawn in her brain and flicked her daggers from their sheathes. She twirled, she parried, she stabbed as she danced with death and avoided the shriek’s talons that could easily eviscerate her. Once they all lay scattered around the campfire, a figure shuffled to the back edge of the camp. In the flickering firelight she couldn’t make out facial features, but by the way it moved, Lira knew it was a ghoul. She dashed towards it, but pulled up short as she neared the creature.

“Lethallan,” Tamlen’s hoarse voice whispered past ruined lips. Her blades fell from numb fingers to the ground and a hand shakily covered her mouth in horror. His skin was black and peeling off in chunks, his hair had fallen out, his once velvety voice now snagged like burlap over dull razor blades, and his moss colored eyes were obscured by blown pupils. She fell to her knees in grief and he slowly lowered himself to the ground, as well.

“Oh, Tamlen…forgive me, please, lethallin. I’m sorry we couldn’t find you and save you.”

“Too late, lethallan. I took…most of the impact. Poisoned beyond hope…immediately. I dragged you...out of the cave…hoping someone would find you. I’m glad I did something...right that day.”

Lira cried and took one of his hands. He was still wearing his armor, including his gauntlets and they protected her from touching his putrid flesh, but she couldn’t resist sitting so close to him and not touching him in some way.

“You...must end this…end me.” She shook her head frantically.

“I can’t kill you, Tamlen. I love you! Don’t ask this of me.”

Tamlen smiled sadly, the skin of his face tearing when he did, causing Lira to recoil slightly. “If you love me…let me go. Please, let it be your blade…not theirs.” She glanced behind her and for the first time noticed that her companions were crowded behind her.

“Tamlen,” she whispered and closed her eyes. 

“Always...loved you, lethallan. Since we were…children. Wanted to…be with you. Only you.”

Lira sobbed harder and nodded. “I know, vhenan. Since I was eleven and you were twelve and you –“

“Knocked you out of…the tree,” he finished. Lira nodded. “It was...accident. My foot slipped…you fell…couldn’t grab your arm…in time. Broke your ankle…I felt terrible.”

She laughed softly and squeezed his hand. “You came to visit me every day that summer while I healed and we were inseparable after that.”

Tamlen shivered and yanked his hand to claw at his head. “No, no, no! Lethallan, please…do not want to hurt you. Song is so loud…end me. Please, Lira.” Her name sounded almost normal or maybe she only wanted it to, so that’s how her ears interpreted it. Either way, she closed her hand around the handle of one of her daggers and scooted closer to him. He lifted his head and bared his neck for her. She raised her blade and barely kissed his skin with the edge. 

“Vhenan, ar lath ma,” he whispered softly enough that only she heard him. Fresh tears filled her eyes and her hand shook infinitesimally, but she steeled her resolve in the face of her love’s plea.

“Ar lath ma, Tamlen. May the Dread Wolf never find you in the Beyond.” He smiled and closed his eyes as the sharp edge sliced cleanly across his neck and freed him from the song. With a shrill scream Lira hurled the blade away from her and pulled his ruined body into her lap, crying and rocking him, unphased by the black blood that was seeping into her armor and the ground around them.

_“Say, weren’t you supposed to be helping Master Ilen today? How did you end up coming with me?”_

_“I wanted to be with you, of course.” Lira smiled shyly and cast her eyes to the ground in embarrassment at having answered so directly._

_Tamlen smiled softly and lowered his voice, “I thought that might be the case. I’m glad.” As they turned and started walking through the dark hallway again, his fingers brushed against her hand, ever so slightly and Lira’s heart soared. _

_A little further up the hallway a small patch of wildflowers grew where the tiles were broken or missing on the path. Tamlen bent down and picked a cheery yellow bloom and with a subtle tint to his cheeks, presented it to her. Lira took it with a bright smile and tucked it behind her ear. He turned to keep moving, but she snatched his wrist and tugged gently on his arm. He swung around and wrapped his arms around her, his eyes asking permission even as his lips hovered millimeters above hers, and she closed the gap. _

_It was only their second kiss, but it burned through her soul. His lips were soft and gentle. He was savoring this moment as much as she was – they didn’t want to rush it because when they returned to camp, they would have to go back to keeping a modest distance between them. They clung to each other in the dark ruins and she no longer cared about the giant spiders or undead that roamed freely. In that moment all she cared about was Tamlen. He slipped his tongue haltingly into her mouth and she readily accepted it with a breathless moan. It was his turn to moan when she moved her tongue along his and the hand on her waist tightened._

_A strange noise startled them into separating. She drank in his green eyes, hooded with desire, his slightly swollen lips, and his rapid breathing. “Lethallan…Lira,” he cleared his throat. Lira nodded in understanding and stepping back she took her daggers from their sheathes and held them at the ready._

_“Lead on, Tamlen. I’m right behind you.”_

Lifting her forehead from Tamlen’s chest, she implored her companions. “We can’t leave him like this. He must be buried. Please, help me.” None of them even considered denying her request and asked what she needed of them. Even Morrigan seemed pained by Lira’s loss and offered to help her prepare Tamlen for burial. 

Alistair and Zevran found a clearing, ringed with trees, a little further behind the camp, just on the edge of the Brecilian Forest. They grabbed the shovels they used for digging latrines and instead, they dug a hole six feet down for Tamlen. When it was done, they scrambled out of the pit to tell Lira it was ready. 

They returned to camp to find that Tamlen had been cut out of his armor and washed before being wrapped in Lira’s own blanket. The smell of darkspawn was masked under the linseed oil and juniper berry mixture smeared onto his skin and Alistair suppressed a shiver at the thought of Lira rubbing it onto his half-rotted body.

Without a word, Alistair gently picked up the sad elf’s corpse and led them all to the place he and Zev had chosen. Lira cried silently as she took in the picturesque resting place, watching as the men who loved her from afar carefully lowered the only man she could ever love into the hole. There was a pang of regret that she wasn’t able to reciprocate either of the men’s affections, but she couldn’t help that her heart had been spoken for since she was a little girl.

Morrigan passed her an acorn that she had quickened with magic, so it would sprout despite the tainted flesh under it. Lira took it, unable to speak, and with halting steps she laid the seed over the blanket that cocooned her love before stepping back and sinking to the ground.

Oghren joined the two men in filling the grave and halfway through their task, a small, clear voice rang in the quiet and it slowly dawned on everyone that Lira was singing. No one even knew she sang, much less that her voice would be so angelic for such a violent person. She continued to sing the dirge for Tamlen, since the clan was not there to do it for him, and as the last scoop of dirt filled the depression in the ground, she finally let her voice trail off into silence once more.

One by one they left her to her grief with mumbled apologies and gentle pats on her shoulder. She wanted to grow roots on the spot and guard his resting place, but Lira knew she still had a job to do. If she did not take care of the Blight, how many other people – elven and human – were at risk of Tamlen’s fate? He would not thank her for neglecting her duty and she did not want to shame his memory. On wooden legs, she returned to camp and demanded they pack up. She needed to be away from this…ruination. 

Now, that all their allies had been gathered, it was time to see the arl. So, they marched to Redcliffe and then joined Arl Eamon’s retinue to Denerim for the Landsmeet, where she was forced to jump through more political hoops to win the trust of the human lords. But it was finally done and she respected Alistair’s wishes and did not make him King. Anora would be a great Queen, even though her father had been insane, and Lira wanted it done so they could focus on defeating the Blight.

They returned to Redcliffe to regroup and strategize, only to discover that the darkspawn were tired of waiting and had sacked the village. Heads rolled, guts spilled, blood saturated the ground where Lira walked – taking her grief and using it against the very creatures that robbed her of Tamlen, of her vitality, and the life they were meant to have. Once the village was free of darkspawn, she spun her daggers and marched up the hill to the castle.

Riordan informed them back in Redcliffe Castle that whichever Grey Warden struck the final blow against the Archdemon was killed in the process. Lira closed her eyes and smiled slightly. This was her way out. The senior Warden thought her declaration that she would kill it was noble, but Alistair knew better. He turned his head away from her – slightly disgusted that she was so intent on sacrificing herself.

Morrigan offered her another way. If she would convince Alistair to bed her, her ritual would spare their lives when they killed the dragon, but Lira only shook her head sadly as she turned down the witch’s offer. Morrigan had been angry, even as she understood the reason the elf denied her, and swore that she was leaving so she wouldn’t have to watch her friend die. 

Lira hugged herself in the oppressive silence of her bedchamber and stumbled to her bed to cry. Alistair’s hand paused mid-air to knock on her door and he turned away at the sound of her ragged sobs pulling another man’s name from her lips, and returned to his own room to brood.

The march to Denerim, where the Archdemon was currently sowing destruction, took longer than the two days they planned with all the darkspawn and corrupted animals they were forced to fight along the road. Now that the horde was on the move above ground, black ichor seeped into the greenery around them, tainting the very soil and poisoning the wildlife and the people who came in contact with it. By the time they reached the capital, it was barely standing.

Her suicidal tendencies were not on display today, but her attacks were vicious as Lira mowed down the darkspawn that dared stand in her way of reaching the Archdemon. Riordan fell before he could finish the beast, falling from its wing to his death miles below, but his attack did ground it to the top of Fort Drakon. With one ruined wing the Archdemon could not fly and that meant Lira had a chance to end this – to end it all.

They finally burst through the doors at the top of the fort and watched in horror as the massive dragon crushed men beneath its giant clawed feet or raked them over the edge of the tower with its tail. Lira spotted the ballistae along the tower and told Alistair and Zevran to each grab one and the three of them would pelt the monstrosity with huge bolts to rapidly cut down it’s health. The men nodded and fought their way through small bands of darkspawn to reach the machines. Lira dropped into stealth to evade the warband ahead of her and turned her ballista to face the Archdemon.

Every now and then they would have to fight off stray darkspawn that rushed them, but Lira kept the majority occupied by calling in her allies. The dwarven contingent was hacking the darkspawn on the main level, while the elves scaled the turrets and rained arrows from above. The mages were weakest so the Redcliffe soldiers acted as barriers between them and their enemy, to allow them to throw well-timed fireballs or healing spells, when needed.

Hours passed and more of their allies fell to sword and claw, the ballistae would jam or they’d be forced to defend their positions, but eventually the Archdemon collapsed – hanging onto the final threads of life. Alistair had already abandoned his machine and was standing close at hand. He did not speak; it would have been fruitless to even try. Instead, he yanked a greatsword from the hands of a deceased soldier and passed it to her, wordlessly. Lira gave him a small smile. It broke his heart all over again and, not for the first time, he wished he could have known her before the taint destroyed every bright thing about her.

Straightening her back and gripping the heavy weapon, Lira hoisted it behind her with the last of her strength, and ran towards the weakened dragon. Her feet slipped in the blood and ichor that covered the stones, but she never stopped racing to her goal. When she neared the creature, it reared its head for a final challenge, but she used the blood coating her boots to her advantage and dropped into a skid with the point of the sword held aloft. The blade sliced along the length of its neck, pouring rivers of black, putrid blood across the tower and when the head finally fell to the ground, Lira popped out of her roll and slammed the weapon through its brain. 

White, blinding light enveloped her and fire raged in her blood, but she held on with gritted teeth and closed her eyes tightly to block out the pain.

_“We both have our vallaslin, now.” Tamlen’s hand reached out and gently caressed the healed tattoo of halla horns that graced her forehead. Lira nodded breathlessly. It was the first time he had done more than simply hold her hand, and even those incidents were rare, since the clan kept close watch on their children._

_Tamlen swallowed nervously. “Now that we are considered adults, there will be new responsibilities. I’ve been made a full hunter and you will soon replace Master Ilen as our craftmaster. It’s time to start thinking about…bonding and starting a family.”_

_Lira’s lips parted slightly and her ears burned. She prayed this was going where she hoped it was – she’d only waited most of her life for him to ask her._

_“Is that something that you want, lethallan?” Tamlen’s brow was permanently furrowed, but she had always been able to read the differences in his scowls. This was one was nervous, afraid of rejection, unsure if he had overstepped his bounds with his best friend._

_“With the right person, of course.” He smiled slightly, a quick tilt of his lips, before it was gone and the anxiety returned, doubt clouding his usually bright eyes._

_“What about me? Am I the right person for you, Lira?” She leaned into his hand that was still hovering near her face and stared at him warmly._

_“I’ve never even considered someone else, Tamlen,” Lira whispered. He grinned broadly, the curve of the vallaslin at the corners of his mouth making it look even bigger. It was the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen and she swore to make him smile that way every day. _

_He cupped his hand around her neck and slowly wrapped his other arm around her waist to pull her closer to him. Lira held her breath in anticipation, staring up at him with her wide eyes, as Tamlen inched his way towards her mouth. She tilted her head higher in invitation and his lips finally found hers. It was tender and full of promise – of a life filled with love and laughter. Promise of a life that no matter where they roamed, he would be her home._

“I’m coming, vhenan. Wait for me,” Lira pleaded right before the explosion that shook the entire city and sent her flying into blissful oblivion.

The world was saved and a young Dalish elf hailed a hero. Alistair overruled everyone’s objections to have the Hero of Ferelden buried according to her traditions. “Build a monument to her, but don’t rob her of her customs in death simply because you want a morbid tomb as a memorial!” His words shamed the Landsmeet and they allowed him to take her body. He left in the middle of the night so he would not be followed and returned to the Brecilian Forest. 

Things had changed in the last few months, but he was able to find the clearing and set to work digging a second grave beside the first. He worked out his grief and his anger in the process until he realized it how deep it was; he wasn’t sure how he was going to get back out. Tossing the shovel topside, Alistair managed to grasp the edge of the grave with a leap and using his considerable upper body strength and pushing with his legs against the sides, he was able to climb out of the depression. 

He rolled on his back with his arm slung over his eyes while he caught his breath. The wind whispered through the trees and the rustling leaves rattled out a familiar tune. He could almost hear her ghostly voice singing the dirge for Tamlen. A knot formed in his gut that no one would be able to sing it for her. 

Moving over to the litter behind his horse, Alistair gingerly unstrapped the wrapped body of his fallen companion and used the same straps to gently lower her into the grave. Well, as best as he could since he was alone and the damn hole was deeper than he meant for it to be. He sighed in resignation as he was forced to drop her the last few feet or risk falling into the pit again. Wincing, at the unseemliness of it, he moved to the pile of dirt and slowly began shoveling it back in again. The entire day had passed by the time his task was finished.

Alistair downed most of his canteen of water, but poured the final dredges over his head to cool off. Heaving a sigh, he dried off with a clean saddle blanket and changed into a dry tunic. He needed to eat, but he wasn’t going to eat here. This was sacred ground now. 

He quickly repacked his saddle bags and tied the litter to his horse with some rope from his pack, since he sacrificed the straps. He planned to chop it up as kindling when he made camp somewhere. Pulling something from his pocket, Alistair walked sadly to the freshly dug grave. Using one of his own dirks he kept in his boot, he shoved the blade into the mound and draped a pendant on a leather cord around the hilt. The light caught the crimson liquid inside and it glowed ethereally in the quiet wood.

“Goodbye, Lira. I am so sorry for everything. I hope you and Tamlen have found peace together.” He stood and mounted his horse, steering it out of the clearing and towards Amaranthine, leaving the lovers to their well-deserved rest. 


End file.
